


Put Me Down, Darcy!

by DibbieDabbieDoobie



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Non-fatal vore, Vore, again apologies to whoever wanted normal p&p fanfic, but this took like a year and a half to write, extreme cuddling, i initially tried mimicking austen's style, safe vore, so it breaks down pretty fast, yes i hate me too, yes this is unironic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DibbieDabbieDoobie/pseuds/DibbieDabbieDoobie
Summary: Elizabeth is sleeping.Darcy is hungry.It goes about as you would expect.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Put Me Down, Darcy!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Think the 1995 TV series when you picture these characters bc Colin Firth as Darcy gave me a sideburn kink and I'm still not sure how to deal with it
> 
> Warning: This contains soft, non-fatal, m/f, oral vore. If that's not your thing, now's the time to dip, since it only gets worse from here.

"Mr. Darcy," says Elizabeth, so thoroughly peeved by her husband's behavior that she cares not to keep it out of her voice. Currently, she's a mere 4 inches tall, dressed in her nightclothes, and being held aloft by Mr. Darcy's gentle, yet firm fingers when she'd originally been asleep not even ten minutes ago.

"Mrs. Darcy," he replies. There's a smugness to his tone, something that, prior to their marriage, she would've assumed to be pride, but now she knows is merely affectionate teasing. On his face is a curious expression, a strange mix of mild hunger, boundless admiration, and a concern so gentle it's hard to reconcile it with the Darcy of before.

"I would quite like to be put down, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth kicks her legs for effect, though it does little to change any of the intent on his face.

"Then I shall be happy to oblige you," he says, and then he begins to open his mouth wide.

"On the ground, Mr. Darcy!" cries Elizabeth. "And returned to my former size!"

"You were always so small. I don't think you've lost very much off your original stature." Darcy answers, his eyes brimming with mirth and hunger. Affectionately, he pets her head with his free fingers. "Not that I mind, of course."

"Is this why you were so peckish at dinner this evening? Because you meant to make a meal of me instead?"

There's a loving, yet smug smile on his face as he says, "Perhaps, if you want to think of it like that. But you could consider that you're always cold in these winter months, even in bed, and that it's rather difficult to be cold when you're inside. As such, my not eating was merely me keeping your bed clean."

"And I suppose there's nothing enticing about going to sleep full and knowing you'll wake up just as satisfied in the morning?"

"There's everything enticing about it," says Darcy bluntly, "especially seeing as I haven't eaten since lunch. My hope is that being more cordial than forceful will prevent my going to bed hungry."

"It's not like I'm any state to stop you," huffs Elizabeth. She's completely at the mercy of his temperament, which, while typically kind, amicable, and respecting of her wishes, is now being heavily affected by his empty stomach. With her shrunken stature, there's no chance of her landing safely on the ground, let alone getting away afterward. 

It's not that she'd want to, however; she's quite certain of her safety in her husband's hands, even at this tiny size and even with that hungry look in his eyes. She's simply a bit irritated at being woken so abruptly only so he could have a snack instead of eating dinner. It's completely like Darcy's character, particularly in that it irritates her and pleases him; part of her loves it on that principle, but the other part merely wishes to return to bed.

"I will admit that the idea is more than a small bit tempting, especially considering your current condition. Still, I would like to earn my reward," Darcy smiles, showing off his teeth and, Elizabeth is certain, displaying exactly where he would like to have her.

It makes her melt, though not out of fear. As always, Darcy is giving her a choice, if worded rather unclearly. Should she refuse, she'll be returned to her normal size, and he'll speak no more of it for the rest of the night, even as his stomach rumbles around its emptiness. He'd be the perfect gentleman, even if his current actions leave much to be desired.

In all honesty, beyond the wish to reward his politeness, it's a tempting promise on its own: she would be surrounded by the softest, most comfortable blankets in the known world, she could sleep as long as she liked without worry of being woken by the morning sun, and she would be providing her husband with one of the best meals he's ever had. The only real downsides would be if she awoke before Darcy, which happened so rarely it wasn't even worth thinking of, and being deprived of his morning kisses.

"Then consider your reward earned," Elizabeth yawns. "It's not as much effort as you might normally expend, but I am too tired to do much more."

"That's quite alright," hums Darcy. Deftly, he works off her sleeping clothes as his stomach growls audibly. "After all, I did earn it, effort aside."

"The only problem is that I am to be without your kisses in the morning," sighs Elizabeth. "I will miss those quite a bit, I imagine."

"I will just have to give you enough to last you through the night, then." Darcy begins to pepper her with kisses, moving his lips up and down her body. "Is that enough?" he pulls away, a smile on his face reminiscent of someone who had just recently fallen in love and not someone who had been happily married for years. "Or perhaps more?"

He leans in again, but now begins to gingerly nibble at her sides. He is delicate, even more so than usual, and his teeth don't bite so much as they rest on her skin in various places. Soon enough, he grows tired of teasing, and he slips her tiny toes into his mouth.

He has less patience than usual, it seems, since he quickly engulfs her thighs, then her torso, then finally her head. He hums, clearly pleased, as his tongue tosses her petite frame about, the muscle curling and suckling around and at her body. Once she's thoroughly slathered in spit, gravity shifts, sending her sliding down Darcy's tongue. With a flick of the muscle, she squeezes into his throat.

Darcy's gullet is tight; The muscular walls have no trouble tugging her body deeper into his, hugging her form in a constant, overeager embrace. Elizabeth almost wishes she could hug back, all too aware of how Darcy loved it when she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his chest. As she descends, the steady drum of his heart grows louder, beating out a calm rhythm that she already feels herself becoming lost in. The volume falls as she slides down deeper until she, at last, is deposited into the pit of Darcy's stomach.

Instinct guides her to try and right herself, and she squirms until she is curled comfortably on her back, nestled snugly in the folds of her husband's belly. Beneath her, the flesh is pliant and supple, and it cradles her with the most delicate, caring touch, second only to his hands.

"Are you all right, Eliza?" asks Darcy. His voice is a low rumble rolling through her body, calming her immediately in a way that she'll never be able to describe. She certainly has tried, which while it did not lead to Darcy truly comprehending how she felt, it did lead to Darcy dropping his voice when he spoke to her while she was inside, and she's more than a bit content with that.

"I'm just fine, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth answers with a soft smile on her face. She loves the way his name rolls off her tongue; she could say it a thousand times and never grow tired of it. "How are you tonight?"

"Well, I just had the most delightful dinner. Only one course, but my, what a course." Darcy begins, though his tone soon drifts into a haze; his words are plenty clear, but Elizabeth can practically see the pleased look on his face. "Perfect presentation, perfect flavor... just perfect..."

His voice goes from hazy into a low hum, as it so often does during these times. Something about dining on her sends him spiraling out of control; his words will fail him, leaving him with little more than hums, coos, and purrs. Elizabeth quite likes it.

She relaxes herself amidst the plush flesh, unbothered by the gentle undulations of it beneath her, nor the chorus of gurgles and grumbles from deeper in Darcy's bowels. It means little to her, for she is safe; Darcy would let no harm come to her, and that includes allowing his own natural processes to do so.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth," says Darcy.

"Goodnight, Fitzwilliam," says Elizabeth, and she lets her eyes shut.


End file.
